Where Will the Circus Fall

. Where will the circus fall, leaving giraffes homeless, as pitched tents get pitched and sideshow freaks become the norm, guessing someone’s weight who doesn’t care When the sun sets tablecloth desires on a silverware runway with dishes made of gold and wine glasses half full are spilled in sad regrets Will I walk alone on a cobblestone road, counting windows without shades laced with flat screen televisions tuned to the wrong channel, reruns in Technicolor Broadcasting seeded visions in open fields of tall grass when Eric Burdon sang and cherry trees once stood producing the fruit of a past I no longer want to see Where will the circus fall, where will I fall